It only takes me a couple of minutes to walk up to Seven Dials from Leicester Square Tube – it’s a lovely evening, the sun is low in the sky and it’s warm enough that I’ve had to take my leather jacket off but I’m already limping when I get there. I walk around the monument to make sure Dan’s not sitting on the other side (it’s small enough that I’m sure we’d be able to see each other, but I don’t want to take any chances) and sit down between a man wearing a backpack and staring down at his phone and a woman in black leather trousers and stilettos, also staring down at her phone.

I want to take my shoes off, even just for a second, but I’m scared I won’t be able to get them back on. Instead I circle my ankles and try to breathe through the pain.

I’m considering hobbling off to find somewhere to buy flip-flops when I see Dan getting out of a black cab in front of the Cambridge Theatre. He’s wearing a black and white stripy top, black jeans and black shoes with a brown sole.

‘Hey,’ he says, as soon as he reaches me. ‘Cool shoes.’ He lifts his foot to show me his.

‘I’m in agony,’ I say without standing up. ‘Can you get a takeaway and we’ll have it here?’

He laughs. His face is really nice, especially when he smiles. ‘We could do. But I’ve booked a table… I could give you a piggy back?’

I shake my head, reaching one hand out so he can pull me up. ‘I’ll be OK. I’ll just have to stop and cry every now and then.’

Once I’m upright, he slides his arm around my waist. ‘Lean on me, yeah?’

The first few steps are blinding agony, but as we head up Monmouth Street it dulls to more like blistering pain.

‘I could give you a fireman’s lift, maybe?’ Dan says. ‘I always wanted to be a fireman.’

‘Yeah? Why didn’t you?’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know really. I never actually thought of it as a real job. It was like when I was a kid, you know? Like kids want to be a fireman or a train driver or… what is it for girls? A ballerina?’

I laugh. ‘I never wanted to be a ballerina.’

‘What did you want to be?’ he asks as we pass Brasserie Max, which is where I’d assumed we were going when he suggested meeting at Seven Dials.

‘Did you ever watch Pop Idol?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘It was like X Factor before X Factor. There was Popstars where they made a band and then another where they made rival bands and then Pop Idol. Will Young won it.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Dan says. ‘I know him.’

‘I can’t sing so I never thought about being a pop star or anything, but they had judges – like X Factor – and one of them was this woman, Nicki Chapman? And I wanted to be her. I wanted to encourage the bands and advise them and maybe take them shopping, get their hair cut, singing lessons, all that.’

‘You could do that, couldn’t you?’

‘Maybe? Like in PR. But I really don’t think I’m suited to it. I wrote her a fan letter though, she was really sweet.’

Dan laughs. ‘I wrote one to David Beckham.’

‘Ooh! Did he reply?’

‘He sent a signed photo. I had it framed on my bedside table.’

At the top of Monmouth Street we cross the road and Dan says, ‘This is the place.’

It’s a diner. Called The Diner. It looks nice, but not quite what I was expecting. It doesn’t say ‘expecting to have sex tonight’ to me, which actually drains some of the tension from my shoulders.

‘It looks great,’ I say.

‘You don’t care where we go, do you? You just want to sit down.’

‘I might weep tears of joy, yes.’

We’re seated immediately, thank god, in a booth in the window and I prise my shoes off and stretch out my toes, groaning with relief.

‘I’ll never get them back on,’ I say. ‘But I’ll walk home barefoot, I don’t even care.’

Dan dips his head to look under the table and I pull my feet up.

‘God, don’t look! They’ll be horrifying!’

‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I bet you’ve got cute feet.’

I don’t even know what to say to that, so I hide behind my menu instead.

We order drinks and while we wait, I pull my feet up to poke at the more painful bits while Dan tells me about the interviews he’s had.

After our drinks arrive and I’m still rubbing my feet and wincing, Dan says, ‘Would plasters help? I could go and get some plasters.’

‘I think I’m beyond help, to be honest, but thank you for offering.’

‘Or maybe socks?’ He takes out his phone and starts tapping and by the time I’ve chosen meatloaf with a side of mac and cheese, he says, ‘A-ha!’

‘What?’

‘There’s an actual sock shop just round the corner. What size are you?’

‘Five, but—’

He’s already sliding along his seat. ‘Order me the burrito and I’ll be back in five minutes.’

‘You really don’t have to—’

‘You’re in pain. I’ll be five.’

He disappears out of the door and I look back at the menu. I can’t believe he’s gone to buy me socks. Once, Anthony and I went out for dinner and then back to his place. I started to feel sick and he said I’d had too much wine, but then I threw up and started having excruciating stomach pains. I was lying on the bed, holding my stomach, trying not to cry, the bathroom bin next to me in case I vomited again, and Anthony told me he’d called me an Uber. He said he had work in the morning and couldn’t risk not getting a good night’s sleep. I had to stop the Uber three times on the way home to throw up at the side of the road.

---

The waiter has been and taken our order by the time Dan comes back with a three-pack of socks in red, yellow and blue and a two-pack in white and black (‘I didn’t know what colour you wanted’). I feel much better as soon as I put them on (I go for the red ones). I still can’t get my shoes back on, but I’m much more hopeful than I was earlier.

‘Stylish,’ I say, holding out one foot and twirling my ankle.

‘No!’ he says. ‘It actually is! I’ve seen stuff like that in magazines, where, like, you don’t think it would work but it’s ironic or something.’

‘You read fashion magazines?’

‘My sisters get them.’

‘You’ve got sisters?’ As I say it I realise he told me about one of them after I had the panic attack.

‘Three. They still live back in Derby.’

‘Ah, Derby. I was wondering where your accent was from.’

‘Yeah. What about you?’

‘Just outside Manchester. My parents still live there.’

‘Yeah, all my family’s still in Derby. Just me down here.’

‘How come you moved down here?’

‘For the original traineeship. I’m not planning to stay here long-term.’

‘No?’

‘Nah, I want to go where the money is. Dubai, maybe. A guy I was at uni with works somewhere out there and he is coining it in.’

‘I’ve never really fancied it,’ I say. ‘Too new and shiny. I love the history in London.’

‘History’s boring,’ Dan says.

I don’t mean to react, but he obviously sees something in my expression ’cos he says, ‘I mean, I know it’s all really interesting and everything if you’re into it – my mum is, she reads, like Dickens and stuff about kings and queens – but I’ve just never really been interested.’

‘I remember when I was a kid,’ I tell him. ‘My mum was always pointing stuff out to me. Like, we went to York and she was fascinated. I remember her touching a wall and saying it was the same wall that Romans had touched and I was like “yeah, whatever, big deal”. But that’d be me now. I love it.’

The waiter brings our food and once he’s gone, Dan says, ‘It’s more interesting when you put it like that. Like, if someone can bring it to life for you? But at school it was all just dates and laws and shit I couldn’t remember and couldn’t get straight in my head. Is that why you wanted to move to London? The history?’

I shake my head. ‘That’s part of it, I think? But really it’s just because London feels like the centre of everything. From the very first time I came, I knew I wanted to live here. I used to have postcards all over my wall. And we came every year for my birthday. I didn’t get presents for years; I’d have a day in London.’

‘What do you love about it?’

I frown and take a sip of my Red Slushy cocktail, which I chose because it looked and sounded like an actual slushy, but which I am now worrying is staining my mouth red… like an actual slushy.

‘I’m not sure exactly. The energy, I guess? I feel like it’s full of possibilities. Like at home I would have to be a certain thing, but here I can do or be anything.’

‘And what do you want to be?’

‘Ah. That’s a different issue.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Not really. I’ve thought about my own bookshop. Like a bookshop/coffee shop, maybe? But I’d need a lot of money for that and… I have no money. Right now I’m happy working in the bookshop. It’s fun working with Henry and there’s no responsibility… It’s not ideal long-term, I know.’

‘But you’re only young.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. What do your sisters do?’

‘Katie is a teaching assistant at my mum’s school – Mum’s a teacher – and Tanya and Beth both work at a spa place doing, like, massage and treatments.’

‘That sounds cool.’

‘Yeah. They love it. They were always into beauty stuff. They used to give me facials when I was at home.’

I grin. ‘Yeah?’

‘And once I let them wax my legs. And my chest.’

I think of my bikini line and wonder again if it would be horrifying to Dan like it was to Anthony. I can’t imagine Henry caring about something like that. And I don’t know why I’m thinking about Henry right now. I drink some more of my drunken slushy and Dan says, ‘Do you have to get back?’

‘No. What were you thinking?’

‘Well, I was going to suggest a romantic walk along the Thames, but…’ He grins. ‘There’s a nice bar just over the road. It’s usually packed inside, but there’s a sort of beer garden that’s nice, if you’re OK with people smoking?’

‘That sounds good,’ I say.

Dan pays – I offer, but he insists, even though I tell him I already owe him for the socks – and then we leave. The bar is literally just over the road and down a side street and the beer garden is cute: small and square with only four picnic tables, and people smoking at just one of them. I sit down and Dan goes inside for drinks. I text Freya.

Tonight might be the night

Almost immediately she replies with a heart, an aubergine and a rocket emojis. Immediately followed by

You sure?

‘No,’ I say aloud. And then tap it into my phone.

Don’t do it unless you’re sure. Promise.

---

One hundred per cent?

I don’t know if I’ve ever been one hundred per cent sure of anything in my entire life.

Seventy-five should do it,

she replies.

Did you get condoms?

I send back the thumbs up emoji. I got them in Tesco on the way to the Tube. I felt weird taking them up to the counter – I couldn’t take them on their own, I also bought a Guardian and a packet of Revels – sort of shifty but also grown-up. Like I had a flashing sign over my head saying ‘May be getting laid’. The woman serving didn’t even blink. And I’m not sure I’m mature enough to be having sex if I get overexcited just buying the condoms.

Dan comes back with the drinks and for a minute or so we sit in silence.

‘Do you—’ he says.

‘What’s the—’ I say at the same time.

‘You go,’ he says.

‘I was just going to ask if you ever hear like a running commentary in your head? I was talking to my flatmate about it – Henry? You met him at the station? – the other day and I was just thinking about it.’

He looks confused. ‘Like a voice in my head?’

‘Yes! Like a voice telling you what’s happening?’

He shakes his head. ‘Never. No.’

‘Really? Like when you were in the bar, there was a voice in my head saying, like, “Dan’s gone to the bar” and…’ I realise I can’t tell him the other stuff I was thinking. ‘And, you know, just, like, observations.’

He laughs. ‘No. That sounds mental.’

I drink some of my beer. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘Oh!’ he says. ‘I was just going to ask if you go home a lot. But that sounds really boring now.’ He smiles behind his glass.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t. I don’t get home that much, no. Just special occasions really. The train’s quite expensive and… I don’t know, it just doesn’t happen. I used to go home whenever my brother came home but he hardly does any more. What about you?’

He nods. ‘I try to get home as much as I can, yeah.’

A pigeon flies into the beer garden and we both watch it wandering between the tables for a bit. I’m struggling to think of something to say and the more I struggle, the more stressed I get. Eventually I say, ‘The other thing me and Henry were talking about the other day was the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done that no one knows.’

‘God,’ he says, covering his mouth with his hand. ‘Too many to choose from.’ He drops his head back, looking up at the sky, and then says, ‘When I was at school I liked this girl. Portia. I wrote a note asking her out and my mate passed it to her. She sent it back saying yes. I was leaning back on my chair. On two legs, you know? Like the teachers always tell you not to. And when I read her note, I just fell right back. Flat on the floor.’

‘Oh no!’ I say, laughing. ‘That’s pretty bad. Although we actually had a teacher do that once, it was great. But that doesn’t count, people know about that one. Portia. And whoever else was in the class.’

‘Oh, you’re right,’ he says. ‘Forgot that bit.’ He thinks a bit longer and then says, ‘OK. No one knows this one. At one of my job interviews I went to the loo and then couldn’t get back to the interview room. There was a keypad on the door and I didn’t know the code. Ended up climbing out of the window.’

‘You did not.’

He nods. ‘’Fraid so. What about you? What’s your most embarrassing moment?’

‘That panic attack on the London Eye was pretty shameful.’

‘Nah. You’re going to have to come up with something better than that.’ He smiles.

‘OK…’ I try to think. Most of my embarrassing moments are too embarrassing to share with someone I might potentially be thinking about sleeping with. ‘I went to Alton Towers with some friends and my boob came out of my top on one of the rides. I didn’t realise – I could just see all these blokes going “Waaaaahey” every time I went past. It was only when it got to the end that I looked down and saw. I was terrified someone had filmed it and it would go viral.’

‘Which one?’ he asks, grinning.

I look down at my chest and point at my left boob. ‘This one.’

He laughs. ‘Which ride?’

‘Oh god. OK, so I can add that to the list.’ I shake my head. ‘The Runaway Mine Train.’

His eyes flicker down to my chest. ‘You probably looked amazing.’

‘I doubt it very much. But thanks.’

He swigs some of his drink, a line of foam settling on his top lip. I want to reach out and wipe it away with my thumb, but it seems like too much. He wipes it with the back of his hand and then shuffles along his seat and moves round the table to sit next to me.

‘Hi,’ he says, his voice lower.

‘Hi.’ I have to look up at him a little with him this close. I think I like it.

He runs his thumb along the back of my forearm and then circles my wrist with his hand.

My heart’s racing and I worry he’ll be able to feel my pulse under his thumb. Maybe that’s what he’s doing – he thinks I’m so dull, he was worried I might be dead and he’s come round to check. But no, I was just talking about my boobs – well, actually Freya’s boobs because that was her story, not mine. My embarrassing stories aren’t flirty enough, so I decided to nick one of Freya’s because all of hers are—

And he’s kissing me.

Sometimes in the romance novels I read, the heroines are freaking out and the heroes kiss them and all the thoughts go out of their head and all they can think about is the kiss. That doesn’t seem to be the case for me. Even though I do think this is a better kiss than the one on the bridge.

I need to focus on the kiss. His lips. Moving against mine. Slowly. They’re soft and not too wet and his thumb is stroking the back of my hand and it feels nice. I don’t know where his other hand is and I don’t know where mine is either. Where is it? Oh, it’s on my thigh. OK. I should move it.

I curl my fingers into his T-shirt. He shuffles even closer. I could press up against him if I wanted to, but I’m aware that there are other people here, even though I’ve got my back to them and I can hear them talking and laughing so I know they’re not sitting staring at us and evaluating the kiss. Probably.

Dan’s other hand slides inside my jacket now and his fingers curl into my side, briefly, before his hand moves higher. His knuckles graze over my ribs and I sit up straighter, pulling my stomach in. He runs his tongue over my bottom lip and I realise I’m supposed to be doing something with mine. I run it along his lip and he sighs against my mouth as his fingers brush up against the side of my breast.

OK. He’s heading for the boobs. I can do this. I can sit here in a public place and get felt up. That’s absolutely fine. I just need to focus.

And then Dan’s thumb brushes over my nipple and a few things happen at once. I inadvertently let out a sort of yelp and my leg shoots out under the table and connects with something soft. There’s a squawk and a pigeon flies up between me and Dan. I screech and rear back in my seat, knocking into the table so that my beer falls over and rolls into Dan’s lap.

Perfect.